Evening Interview
Thank you so much for this one, Andy. It was pivotal and I know you were busy when we did this.--Maer
Saturday 25 Jun 2011
Devereaux-Shields House B&B
Natchez, Mississippi
1700hrs, local time
Irina dragged herself up the stairs and once behind the closed door of her room, she painted a path to her shower with her clothes. The water came out instantly hot and Irina held herself under the spray and let it pound into her. After a minute she got busy with the soap and the day went down the drain. She thought about the places and people she’d encountered as she washed up, drew her mental map of Natchez as she shampooed her hair. Ten minutes after stepping into the tub she was done. Just one more thing … Irina shut the hot water off and cranked on the cold full-blast. The temperature woke her right up and she gave it a slow count to thirty before turning everything off. The nap could wait. Refreshed and invigorated by the cold, she quickly dressed and surveyed the results in the cheval mirror in the bedroom: Brown on brown, 5'-9", 150, Caucasian female, blue silk shell over black linen skirt, knee length, dark hose, sensible black pumps. Needs a little shiny. A gold chain necklace, nothing chunky or timid, and a touch of eyeliner and lip gloss put the finishing touches on the ensemble.
Nearly three hours to kill. Find something constructive to do.
Pulling her laptop from her briefcase, Irina typed up her notes of the day's ramble and downloaded the photos from her camera. She fell into the work and came back with a start when her watch alarm went off.
Half an hour.
Irina finished her summary, hit save, backed it up to a thumb drive, and shut everything down. Packing her laptop up, she checked her watch. If she left now, she'd make it to the hotel restaurant with ten minutes to spare. Grabbing her keys and her clutch, Irina got going.
The sun was down and the temperatures dropping and the streets were filling up with people. Main Street was alive with lights, music and pedestrians now that the weather wasn’t so punishing. Parking was going to be a problem, Irina saw, and she decided it wouldn't be hers. She drove up to the valet stand at the Eola and let the staff park the car for her. The lobby was gilt and marble, graced with columns and a mezzanine between the first and second floors. A dais with ornate furniture held court at one end and the long counter of the front desk balanced it at the other. Café LaSalle faced Pearl Street to the side and Irina checked her watch.
Five minutes.
She swept the lobby with a practiced eye—four staff at the desk, two dozen people in groups of three and four scattered across both floors—and seeing no man standing alone ostensibly looking for someone to arrive, she debated where to wait for Marcus Stone. Manners were different here and Irina reckoned a gentleman would expect to greet a woman and lead her in to dinner. Seating herself would deprive him of the opportunity to be gracious and Irina didn’t want to start the evening off on the wrong foot. Neither did she want to dither in the lobby while the man waited for her inside.
Three minutes.
The LaSalle had a hostess on duty at the entrance and Irina smiled at her as she walked up. Blonde on blue, mid-50s, 5’-6”, 140.
"Excuse me," she said, not too timid and not too lost. "Is there a reservation for two under the name of Stone? I'm afraid I may be a little early."
"You're not in the least bit early, Ms. DiSanti," said a regal voice from behind her. When Irina turned around, standing behind her was an elegant older gentleman, perhaps in his 60s, dressed in a fine silver Brooks Brothers suit complete with a dark red crimson tie. He was an inch or two taller than Irina, with an elegant gold handled cane in his left hand. With his right hand, before she had a chance to protest, Marcus gently pulled her hand up and briefly brushed it across his lips.
"It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, at last. Ray described you to me, of course, but description and narration can, of course, not substitute for the personal experience." His smile was charming without being sleazy, the smile of a more polite, civilized era.
He turned to the hostess and whispered something to her. She smiled at him and said, "Of course, Mr. Stone, right this way," as she led them back to their table.
Irina didn't catch what he whispered and he deftly tucked her hand into the crook of his left arm to escort her properly to their table. He's smooth, she thought. Has an accent too. As a New York City cop, Irina had met just about every example of accent and manners the world had to offer, since sooner or later, everyone in the world came to New York. The kiss on the hand, Continental. The accent … harder to place. European, for now. Stone held her seat for her and she let him slide her in. Nice touch, well done. Who is this guy? Irina wasn't unaware of the finer points of etiquette but as a New York City cop, she also didn't get to spend much time interacting with the cream of human society either. Still there was something about Marcus Stone that was pinging loud and clear on her internal radar. She glanced at his hands as they left her chair. Manicured, no calluses, no scars. No rings. She sniffed discreetly as he passed her rounding the table. Cologne. Expensive. Just the right amount. Suit spotless, tailoring impeccable, no rips, no wear. Shoes polished. Handkerchief matches tie. Silver watch chain, bulge in vest pocket suggesting watch. Cheats toward the audience, never gives the lady his back. Eyes on her face and not the girls. Irina noted and filed it all away for review later and returned his smile as he took his seat opposite.
"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Stone," she said politely, choosing an opener to dig a little deeper below the surface. “I realize it cannot be easy to extend your work week this far into the weekend and I shall endeavor to make it worth your time.”
"My week and my life are not so strictly defined, Ms. DiSanti." He opened up the menu, but kept it flat so as not to obscure her face or impede conversation. "Things of interest occur at all times and it is worth always being alert to the possibilities. I imagine as a former police officer and current detective that you do not compartmentalize your life either." He fluidly turned the conversation back on to her.
Compartmentalization. Irina had to wonder how much research the Franklin Agency had done on her before sending that email. You need to get out more, her friends and family constantly admonished her. Set some boundaries between you and the job. Before it eats you alive. Ironically, she compartmentalized all the time, just not along the lines others expected. Right now she had to hide the fact she was investigating her prospective employer for wrongdoing, even as he interviewed her for a position in his company.
"It's good to keep your eyes and ears open, yes," Irina said easily, her voice low to prevent it from carrying to the next table. "Although I agree, it's not exactly an activity you can set a time clock to. The hours are more fluid and it pays to be flexible. Mr. Walker mentioned needing a front man for your organization and that I would be perfect for it. That suggests you’ve been reading up on me. I realize that the Franklin Agency is an investigatory operation but might I ask how you got your hands on that information?"
She'd kept her nose clean and her name out of the papers since she left the force and the department kept her beating and subsequent retirement strictly on the QT. The people who'd tried to kill her were still at large and many on the force still hoped to nail them for what they'd done. It would not be easy to get one's hands on that particular case file. The NYPD protected its own.
"Money. While there is a long, involved explanation, in the end it comes down to the fact that the Agency has access to enough money to make things happen." Marcus was sure that Ms. DiSanti would have preferred the longer explanation, but that would dampen her curiosity, rather than inflame it. And he needed it inflamed. Her curiosity had pulled her here and Marcus was counting on it keeping her here as well.
As he finished his statement, the waiter came by to take their order. Marcus carefully closed the menu and handed it to the waiter. "I will have a ribeye steak, done rare." He held up a finger before the waiter could continue. "By which I mean that I would like you to show the steak the flame just long enough to invoke fear in it and then put it back on the plate. C'est compris? And I would also like a bottle of your 2007 St.-Émilion Bordeaux as well."
He turned back to face Ms. DiSanti. "There is a certain value in eating meat closer to its primal state, I feel. In this world of constantly advancing technology, finding ways to remain grounded to our baser natures is important."
"I'll have the same, only I'd like mine medium," Irina said to their waiter in turn, handing him her menu unopened, sweeping him in a glance. Brown on green, 6'-0", 180, male, Caucasian, carpenter. The idea that someone in Records might have been bribed over her case file disturbed her. If evidence tampering were ever suspected, the case against the bastards would be disqualified. "Unsweetened iced tea, please, no sweetener. Thank you."
She turned back to Marcus Stone, laced her fingers with her elbows on the table, and leaned in with a smile, her voice low. Irina kept an iron grip on her tone, making it conversational as opposed to confrontational, and ruthlessly controlled her body language. To anyone observing, it would look like an intimate little talk between two consenting adults.
"As a cop, I've seen firsthand what base nature makes people do and it's usually ugly. As an investigator, the view isn't any prettier. Social networking media, the internet, cell phones … they make it easy for the predators to access their prey, delivering instant gratification and anonymity in one tidy little package. It's almost enough to make you wish we were back in Sherlock Holmes's day, when the scumbags had to chase down their victims in front of witnesses and were much less tidy about the evidence they left behind. But the flip side of that coin would be no forensics, no crime labs, no MEs. No IAFIS. No 911." She gave Stone another smile and leaned back, crossing her legs becomingly, her finger tracing her chin and gesturing as she continued. "We're human. That means we're constantly evolving. As criminals get savvier, so must we. Some days it's hard to tell which side is winning the war. And that's how I see it, Mr. Stone. It's war and it's one I intend to win. So, what can Natchez offer me in terms of battle that I cannot get anywhere else? What can your money do that it cannot do anywhere else? Why are you here and why have you asked me to join you?"
For anyone else, the amount of money the Franklin Agency offered would've been enough by itself, especially given her medical condition, lack of cases for her own detective agency, and inability to rejoin the police force. The fact that it wasn't suggested that Marcus indeed had the person he was looking for.
"Straight to the point, I see." His smile suggested perhaps a slight annoyance at the social niceties being skipped over, but his tone remained cordial, giving away nothing. "And to think that I was under the delusion that I was in charge of this interview."
He gestured to the small bread plate in front of him with his long, elegant fingers, running them along the circumference. "This, Ms. DiSanti, is your world up to now. Clean. Simple. Enclosed."
Marcus snapped his fingers and a coin appeared from what seemed to be thin air. "And here you are, at the center of it all." And he carefully placed the coin in the middle of the plate. The bright silver of it glinted under the restaurant lighting. Shiny, like Ms. DiSanti, Marcus thought. She believes she has worn the gleam off of herself, but in my eyes, she still shines bright.
"What I offer is a chance to see a world outside what you know, to leave your enclosed space." Marcus put his hand over the coin and when he raised his hand, the coin was no longer visible. "And to enter a dark world where the inhabitants have an edge to them that you have not had a chance to experience. If you're willing to risk the darkness, you might find where the real source of evil is." And he gestured casually towards her silverware, sitting wrapped in a black cloth, untouched in front of her. A parlor trick, to be sure, but even simple tricks had power. When used appropriately.
Irina drew breath to apologize, catching that little twitch of annoyance of Stone's, but his description of her life and the coin trick forestalled her long enough to make her think twice. To apologize for her fervor would be to admit that it was wrong and that would be a denial of her innermost self—her drive was the only thing that had kept her alive in that stinking basement and had given her the strength to fight the hell that followed her out of it.
No apologies, DiSanti. No quarter asked. No quarter given.
"I won't deny my life has been somewhat circumscribed by matters beyond my control," she said instead, putting hand to her napkin and tugging it open. As she'd thought, the coin fell to the tablecloth with a soft thunk. She picked it up and regarded it by the light of the chandeliers—Delaware state quarter. Paul Revere. Midnight ride. How apropos—then gazed at Stone over its edge. "As for money, I've enough for my needs but I wouldn't say no to the salary offered. It's just not the reason I'm here." She slid the coin back within reach of his hand. With a final glance at the figure embossed on the coin, she asked, "What can you tell me about this world you mentioned? What's involved?"
Marcus chuckled softly, the laugh of someone who had been asked that question before. "Do you have all night?" He held up his hand to forestall any comment. "In truth, it is not a matter of time but of understanding and understanding can only come through experience. I would prefer not to cloud your sharp vision with my own perceptions. I can tell you that I deal with what most people would refer to as the occult or supernatural. But given what I've seen and its frequency, I would say that the definition of natural should be redefined."
Their waiter returned, with their dinner plates and the bottle of Bordeaux. Marcus accepted the bottle from the waiter and poured each of them a glass. He then lifted the glass to his nose, taking a subtle sniff. "An excellent vintage. I accept only the best when it comes to wine. A statement that is true of most things I am associated with." A sip of wine and a nod across the table to the proud young detective sitting across from him.
Here we go. Wined and dined. Careful.
"Ray mentioned that was how you two met," she said, cutting into her steak and checking it for doneness. Pink. Hot. Perfect. As confirmed with her first bite. She closed her eyes a second to savor it, then opened them again to catch Stone’s nod. Irina raised her glass with a subtle salute and sipped it. Her brows went up. The Bordeaux was excellent, bringing out the flavor of the meat and making it dance on her tongue. "Over a missing girl. You were too late to save her and you put her kidnappers down 'like the rabid dogs they were'," she added, matching Walker's words and tone exactly.
"I won't deny they were bad people, but Ray wouldn’t tell me exactly how you dealt with them. What did you do? How did you do it?" she asked, making sure no one but he could hear her. "I'll tell you now, Mr. Stone, if this position requires me to betray my brothers in blue, my country, or the military, consider this interview over."
"Ah, the Jameson affair. Would it make you feel any better to know that they literally were dogs? The Clan of the Jackal, a group of vile Anubis worshippers who through the use of dark arts, had half transformed themselves into canines," he said before sighing. He took another bite of the steak with its nearly bloody insides to give himself a moment to think and consider. When he was done chewing, Marcus looked over at his potential employee, knowing this was the potential breaking moment. "You see the position I find myself in, do you not, Ms. DiSanti? If I tell you too much, you think me a raving old man. If I tell you too little, then you think I am hiding things." Marcus could feel the pressure of the need to narrate like a throbbing in his skull, but now was not the time for it. He would control it rather than letting it control him. There would be time enough after for that.
Now to reassure her. "You've met Ray. Do you think he would do anything that would betray his country or the military?" He continued on, answering his own question. "Of course not. We will not ask you to betray what you believe in. In fact, you would be combating evil closer to the source, which seems to me to be a benefit to your former law enforcement ties, rather than a hindrance or betrayal."
Dear God. If he’s telling the truth, how many people have they killed?
Irina kept eating, though Marcus Stone's words turned everything in her mouth to dust. She wanted to think it through. The kidnapping case alone would make it a multiple homicide, dead girl notwithstanding, because even perps deserved due process. The law was the law for everyone or there was no law. No civilization. Anubis Cult? Dark magic? Turned into dogs? Occult and the supernatural? Truth or insanity? I've seen some pretty weird things but … this? Are Marcus and Ray insane or not? If they're insane and making this up in some kind of shared hallucination, with no one dead at the end of it, they need to be examined. If they're insane and have actually killed people, they need to be brought in. If they aren't insane and have killed people, then they’re guilty of multiple counts of murder-one, at least murder-two. All this is predicated on the fact that some of his story is true, but no matter how you look at it, they’ve pitched a case in my lap.
So where did her duty lie? Should she investigate further to substantiate their claims, to prove or disprove their guilt or innocence? Or should she blow the whistle and let the local law enforcement sort it out? If she blew the whistle with no proof beyond hearsay and her suspicions, Marcus and Ray could lawyer up, get the case dismissed and pull stakes to set up shop elsewhere. If they were truly dangerous, that would be the last thing she'd want them to do. If they were blameless, she’d just possibly left herself and the local law enforcement open for a lawsuit. There would be no coming back from that—she would have just committed professional suicide. No one would hire a PI who'd blundered that badly.
Face it, DiSanti. You've landed yourself in some pretty deep shit. All because you couldn't leave well enough alone. Yes, this is a job interview but you've already turned it into something else. She couldn't un-hear what she'd heard from Marcus Stone and Ray Walker. She couldn't un-think her thoughts, dismiss the suspicions that had already taken hold. Just as she'd had that night when she left her car to follow a lead that led her down to that basement, she did again. There's no going back. There's only forward. The only way out of this is through.
Irina swallowed and put her fork down.
"You've said it yourself, Mr. Stone. That's quite a lot to take in, much less believe." She put her elbows on the table, laced her fingers over her plate and looked at Stone. "Either way, I will admit I am intrigued. You have my attention. What would my work with your Agency entail? What would you have me do?"
Intrigued or playing along with him? No matter. "Investigate, of course, since that is what you do." Marcus looked at the young detective, who he was now convinced thought he was a lunatic. But if she took the job, she would find out soon enough that he was serious. When the moon that was not a moon rose, things darker than the night made their way abroad. Klaus Gertsch may have been a Lovecraft-copying hack, Marcus thought, but that phrase from his final novel summed it up well.
He returned from his thoughts back to the conversation, where Ms. DiSanti awaited the details of the job she certainly thought was a sham. "The investigators in the Agency work on their own schedule and I would expect the same from you. The Agency is focused on cases where the occult intersects with the normal. You can pick your own line of investigation, but I would suggest starting with Natchez. It is not immune to the strange and occult. Many of us at the agency are away from extended periods of time and we, unfortunately, do not serve the members of the community we live in as well as we would like. You could be that representative."
"Who else would I be working with as your representative?" She had an idea, but she needed more information before she could tell if it was viable or not.
"If you mean in Natchez, I would expect you to coordinate with the local law enforcement. We work within the boundaries of the law whenever possible. If you mean within the Agency, it will mostly be Ray and myself. We have a 3rd partner, Nancy Carter, but she has a very specific skill set and tends to employ it on the road. You will hopefully get to meet her soon, if you choose to take the job. I admit to being uncertain of whether you are interested." Marcus was, in fact, completely certain she was interested. He was just uncertain whether it was to investigate the targets of the Agency or the Agency itself. If the latter, then the Agency had nothing to hide and she would end up truly working for them anyway.
Finally, she thought. A straight answer. Just two. That’s doable.
"Hopefully, I will meet her. Since I'm accepting the position offered," Irina said, her mind made up. "If you'll have me."
"Then after dinner, we can return to the office and get the contract details worked out." He gave a smile and extended his hand. "I am looking forward to you joining us full time, Ms. DiSanti."
"So am I, Marcus," Irina said warmly, returning the handshake and keeping the predatory edge she felt from coloring her smile. Gotcha. "So am I."
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